RED
by robot harts
Summary: the colour of roses, the colour of blood, the colour of the lipstick stain on his cheek; when angels fall for demons — (tw: blood&gore, violence) riley/lucas [rucas]
1. there are flags everywhere

**O N E**

 _there are flags everywhere  
_

* * *

The most she's seen were usually when Maya would be reckless at the playground or she'd get a measly papercut. Something like this never really appeared in Rileytown. Then all of the sudden she's _growing up_ , and even at the age of fifteen, _Happy Little Riley_ , the girl of dream castles and flower crowns, has never seen this much blood before.

Two boys are taking shots at each other in the middle of the cafeteria, and this hypes up the rest of the teens like a malicious sanguinary high as they crowd the duo. Before her vision is blocked out with the kids swarming inward like moths to a flame, she sees someone completely unrecognizable on top of a boy she's seen around, face red and damaged, punching _punching_ **punching**.

Maya's up and consumed in the hype. Farkle's up and she's not sure why. Riley is frozen in her seat, not really knowing what to do while her heart is punching _punching_ **punching** against her ribcage.

 _ **Red**_ , pumping through her heart, rushing under her skin, dripping down two faces, drowning the vision of four eyes, coating her lips. **_Red_**.

Riley likes red—reminds her of roses, the flowers of romance. It's not a very delightful colour anymore. Roses don't seem that delightful anymore either.

"There's this new guy named Lucas in my afternoon classes," she remembers, because that had been what was new and different in Farkle's life and Riley wasn't that big of a fan of change. She listened like she usually would either way. "At first, he kind of pegged me as the jock type. Then he noticed the pin on my backpack from debate team and asked if he could join. It wasn't the best exchange, since I thought he was going to hit me like the other boys, but it was something different. I actually think I made a new friend."

Somewhere between when everything blurs and when her heartbeat _pounds_ against her eardrums, that inner angel of good hearted kindness awakens inside of her. That heart of justice turns the frozen fear into something that drives her like adrenaline and feels like heroism. She's out of her seat and pushing through the crowd before Maya's whooping for more action can settle.

"Stop! _Stop_!" She's not heard the first time, but Maya's right beside her and she grabs the brunette's hand on reflex, concern in her eyes as her excitement drains away.

"Riley, what are you—"

Her next words making up an earsplitting screech, leaving her throat **raw**.

" _YOU'RE **HURTING** HIM_!"

The hype dies instantly and heads turn to the voice. The boy on top freezes mid-swing, and when he looks up, his eyes lock with hers.

She's scared. And it shows.

And when his fingers sort of slip from Billy's collar, letting his head crash to the floor (he was so beat up and swollen he could barely turn his head, or even open his eyes), his eyes didn't leave Riley's. They didn't look like eyes of a violent, vehement being. If you looked past the shock, there was some kind of _pain_.

Her heart pounds like thunder, hard and terrified, and she just has to wonder, looking into his eyes, if his was doing the same thing.

But then, looking at what's coating his face, she wonders: _how much blood can you lose before your heart **stops**?_

A teacher with small owl spectacles and on the verge of baldness arrives at the scene. "What is going on here?!" About a dozen fingers point to the duo, and the boy finally gets up and off of Billy.

She stares at him, at the blood, at the blue and _black_ and goddamn _**red**_ , at the human that reminded her of overlapping darkness and monsters under her bed. But then . . .

He's broken. He's bruised. He's hurt.

(And it's hurting her.)

"Are you—"

"You, Friar." The teacher cuts her off. He's pointing at the boy. Then he averts his bony finger to Riley. "You, Matthews—"

Maya, as always, is lightning fast to defend her best friend. "She didn't do anything!"

"Maya," Riley says.

"She was the one trying to stop it!"

"Maya!" She looks at her, squeezing the blonde's hand reassuringly. "It's okay, I'm pretty sure he just needs a witness."

"He can _get_ another _witness_ ," she insists.

Finally having enough, the teacher held a finger to his temple. "Ms . . . or should I say Mr. Hart, if you're done . . . ?"

That's when Maya's face flares with a mix of embarrassment and anger as her jaw locks and her teeth were clenched hard enough to shape like jagged stalagmites.

Maya wore pants instead of a dress, which, according to society, is _all wrong_.

It wasn't suppose to mean anything, she just thought they were more comfortable. (But that's their society, where kids around her would stifle their laughter because only boys wore pants and only girls wore dresses because that's just how things worked.)

She looked away with a scoff, tongue rolling against the inside of her cheek, before snapping her head back up. "I'm not—" Maya's cut off when Riley places a hand on her shoulder, sending messages through doe eyes, giving her a soft encouraging smile with a slight _flame_ in her eye.

 **You're better than them.**

Riley then walks away and towards the teacher because she hasn't forgotten the matter at hand. The teacher yells at the rest of the students to _get to class_.

They walk down the halls. Riley attempts to catch glances at the boy with her stomach full if worry. She's too scared to ask with the teacher between them. The clicking of her thick heels against the smooth floor is the only thing sound in the hallways, and as they transfer into the office, her heels get replaced with the ticking of the clock.

 _Tick . . ._

 _Tock . . ._


	2. the end of her sweater

**T W O**  
 _the_ _end_ _of_ _her sweater_

* * *

 _Tock . . ._

 _Tick . . ._

 _Tock . . ._

She doesn't have much of a clue on what's happening. The owl teacher is gone while the principal is flipping carefully through papers of what seems to be a student's record. Surely not Riley Matthew's record, which was squeaky clean and blindingly so. Never once had she gotten a single negative smudge on her record, even with Maya and Farkle.

Maya had taken the role of the 'bad influence'.

Farkle was the soon-to-be dictator (at least, in his dreams).

Now she's got this boy beside her. And even now, as he's attempting to rid of the drying blood stuck on his skin with a given rag, she can't see what could possibly happen.

She is, however, a bit worried.

"Are you—"

She's interrupted yet again when the screeching of wheels against the floor _slices_ into the air as the principal pushes himself out of his chair. The file in his hand is taken back to the cabinet. The principal eases himself back into his chair, pushing it forward into his desk with the same screech of wheels, and words are spewing from his mouth immediately.

"Countless detentions, several suspensions, and was recently expelled and on probation for violent behaviour."

Words like _those_? Riley didn't hear them often. Words like those made her eyes grow wide. She looked at Lucas. She could see his face more clearly now, but there was still red around his temple and the corner of his mouth. She bit the inside of her cheek.

"Now, Mr. Friar, you must be aware that our school, or any school for that matter, would never accept such an atrocity of a student—"

He finally looks up. "So why did you?" he retorts quickly.

Riley hasn't taken her eyes off of him, a whirlpool of emotions making her lungs burn, as if there was water drowning them out.

The principal leans back in his chair. "Because your football record is _remarkable_."

She's not familiar with football terms, so the principal's words, for the next two minutes or so, go over her head. The only thing she really notices is that Lucas doesn't seem to notice—he's off in his own world, looking foggy eyed and oblivious.

That is, until the principal picks up some random thick leather-bound textbook and drops it onto his desk with a _thud_ , making both teens jump. Lucas's head snaps back up to meet the principal's eyes, expectant on an explanation.

". . . Zoned out," is the only explanation Lucas gives.

"Ms. Matthews." The principal reverts his attention to the timid brunette. "I'm sure you can bare some light to what was taking place in the cafeteria?"

"Um." She clears her throat whilst glancing at Lucas through the corner of her eye, who has his jaw locked, looking down at fidgeting fingers, seemingly tense all of the sudden. (She takes it that he's probably nervous of getting ratted out. But she's not correct with that thought.) ". . . They need medical attention. Lucas and Billy—they're **hurt**."

As she expects, the shift in the principal's jaw tells her he's not satisfied with her answer. But she doesn't expect Lucas's reaction—he becomes even more rigid that before, even more nervous, even more . . .

. . . _scared_.

The principle clears his throat, playing a smile as if that would disguise his growing impatience. " _Ri_ -ley?" he starts, talking as if she were an infant. "As much as it warms my heart that you care, I need you to tell me _what_ _happened_ _in_ _the_ _cafeteria_."

"And they'll get their medical attention?"

(So maybe she really doesn't want to rat him out, especially since she has an idea of where this is all coming from. Billy has always picked on Farkle and she has a sneaking suspicion Lucas was defending him, and even if this was a terrifying way of solving a problem—admittedly, the 'solving' part was arguable—it was still something she was oddly grateful for. In her logic, Farkle deserves all support he could get . . . and, yeah, this wasn't okay. She knew this _wasn't okay_. But what do you do when you want to scold someone whilst still being **grateful**?)

It's obvious the principal wouldn't be able to take much more of this, so he clicks his tongue, and commands with a wave of his hand, "Get out. You're both dismissed."

They both sigh when the mutual weight is lifted.

Lucas is quick to get out from his seat, tossing the bloody rag into a nearby metal netted trash bin. Riley is hesitant at first, feeling something rise in her chest, but she goes with it.

"Hey!" she calls, and Lucas gets caught in the doorway to the sound of her voice, surprise painted on his face. She gets up from her seat, smoothing out the black skirt of her uniform and adjusting the suspenders as she rushes to him. Her red lips are open like a gaping fish, words resting on her tongue, but her eyebrows furrow at the sight of **_red_** still around his temple. She extends her sleeve, bunching up the wool in her fingers, and reaches for his temple. _But he pulls back_.

This confuses her, her eyebrows furrowing even more. She reaches again, and he steps back again, and this continues until they're in the middle of the hallway. She finally gets him to stop by reaching her other hand quickly to his face, fingertips resting along the hairline of his neck and thumb resting against the corner of his jaw. With a gentle touch, she pulls him forward, just a bit, just enough to begin to dab her sleeve against his bleeding temple.

Because she cares. **She always does.**

He winces, and she mumbles a quick, "Sorry," with the innocence of her being gleaming in her eyes.

The stepping back thing was awkward, so she thinks him silly for a second and laughs a bit, oblivious to the odd uncharacteristic fear in his eyes. ". . . I just wanted to say thank you. For, you know, standing up for Farkle and all." When he doesn't say anything, she continues, "But you really didn't have to go off like that."

Lucas's persona shifts; his hands clench to fists and his jaw locks as he gulps whatever guilt he had since there wasn't much to begin with. "He said some things he shouldn't have said."

"I know," Riley responds with a nod, then clarifies, "I know the kinds of things Billy would say."

 _But did he really_ _ **deserve**_ _it?_

She doesn't find these words rolling around in her mouth with the uncertainty she usually had with these things, but instead she finds them in her mind, pressing against the back of her eyes, completely _unsaid_.

She adjusts the end of her sleeve and moves down to dab the red from the corner of his mouth.

Then, there are words. _Different_ words. "I just . . . never would've thought to do what you did."

There's the slightest hitch in his shoulders, the slightest and inaudible catch in his breath. The blood wasn't going away completely. Sighing, she stops dabbing, and her fingers find themselves framing the wound, careful so she won't hurt him. Her thumb is _just_ brushing the corner of his lips.

She hasn't quite looked into his eyes until that moment.

It's a whole new indescribable feeling all together to witness the mixed emotions spiraling in the depths of hazel-green. There's a stunned aura around him, as if he just witnessed Riley morphing into stars, beams of light, anything that _shined_. Because that's what Riley Matthews was good at: _shining_ , **glowing** , lighting up everything surrounding her. Only Lucas was still trapped in another _dark world_ and he was still having trouble believing this light was true. And he's not quite sure if he's ready to believe in it.

 _(Will her light be able to_ _ **reach**_ _him?)_

She doesn't see this though. She just sees this unfathomable fear.

 _Are you okay?_ is what she's been meaning to ask him all this time. But she can't help herself.

"Why did you think to do what you did?" she whispers, and it almost, _almost_ gives him a heart attack.

It takes a moment of silence for the bell to cut off the storm of emotions around them. Students and dark blurry figures enter and crowd the hallways in an instant, and Riley hears a voice. It's undoubtedly Maya calling her. She turns, just for a few seconds, her hands coming to her sides and away from the face of a troubled boy, to see Maya running out of her class and towards the brunette. By the time she turns back, Lucas is gone.


End file.
